J.A McManus Poems
The little gods, spitting curses like unholy prayers
Hatred burning in their eyes, consuming like fire
Their hands forever stained with innocent blood.
They wander through the dark, abandoned streets
Their faces cloaked from the misery they spread
The little gods, spitting curses like unholy prayers.
You almost feel sorry for the poor little bastards
Afraid of whatever they don’t or can’t understand
Hatred burning in their eyes, consuming like fire.
So vainly and cheaply they love, then toss it aside
Kicking at the bars of society like babies in a ...
Has the ball finally fell to rest
Upon your stately, broken breast?
Has the golden trumpet lost it’s tune
Amongst the flowers all in bloom?
The swine eat greedily at your flesh
They drink your blood, so sweet and fresh
Yet they hold your torch within their hands
So they may burn the foreign lands.